


The Lord of Gifts

by Dilly, scythe_lyfe



Series: Bloody Silmarils [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor, M/M, Male Slash, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:12:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dilly/pseuds/Dilly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scythe_lyfe/pseuds/scythe_lyfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros, Fingon... and gifts. Based on details from Tolkien's Unfinished Tales and Histories of Middle Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lord of Gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Le seigneur des présents](https://archiveofourown.org/works/939992) by [Dilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dilly/pseuds/Dilly). 



The Herald who presented himself that morning in the bustling city of Dor-Lomin was dressed head to toe in silver: his plates of armor were silver, his chain mail was silver, and his shirt was embroidered with silver thread.

"From the Northern Marches, beyond rivers and mountains, come the messengers of Maglor and Maedhros, swift as the eagles of Manwë," remarked the Prince. "What news do you bring me? Tell me of the new exploits of my kin."

"I bring you no news this time, Majesty," replied the messenger, unsettled by the piercing blue stare of the son of Fingolfin, "it's a completely different matter that brings me here today. Specifically, Lord Maedhros sent me, concerned that you remain unconvinced of his ingratitude."

The Prince slumped back in his throne, frowning irritably, while the nobles of the court began to whisper amongst themselves like insects in the night.

"There can be no doubt, Calion, that Maedhros, son of Nerdanel, knows nothing of ingratitude."

He did not dare say so out loud - no one dared - but his friend Maedhros, many years ago, had abdicated his throne in favor of his Uncle. What greater proof of gratitude could he give? Noldorin malcontents and Sindarin great hearts both agreed that the soul of Maedhros knew no bounds.

"There is no way to truly repay you," the messenger countered, "that is why my Lord has sent you this gift, so that you will know that not a day goes by when Maedhros does not recall what you have done for him."

Fingon struggled to hold back tears at the memory. Meanwhile, Calion gestured to his second who approached the throne with a large package in his hand. He knelt before the King's son and handed it to him.

A servant opened the box, and Maedhros' messenger recited:

"The dragon helmet of Telchar, to honor the one who dared to pursue the fire-breathing Glaurung. An enchanted helm that makes the wearer invincible, forged by the skilled dwarves of Ered Luin, for the one who is, was, and always will be the light of this world."

Fingon took three steps back in awe.

"Tell your master that I do not deserve such honor," declared the son of Fingolfin, "Glaurung was rather small for a monster, and his scales did not yet cover his soft underbelly."

Fingon approached the gift-bearer and took the dragon helmet from his hands.

"Splendid work... I would like to see these Khazad people keep telling me about. They say their appearance is vile, but when I see such beauty in their work, I can't help but think them fascinating creatures."

Calion and his men saw the elf Lord walk left to hold the golden helmet before the largest stained glass window in the room. He stood there for several minutes, his heavy, black braids resting on his blue cape.

"Praise be to Maedhros for giving me such a gift," he murmured.

Then he turned to the messenger from the Marches.

"Tell the Lord of Himring that his gift has made Fingon very happy. But first, you will join us for a banquet tonight and rest the night in a proper bed."

This wasn't the first time that Calion had come to the palace in Mithrim, nor would it be the last.

In fact, a season had not passed where he had not come there bearing gifts from his master for the High King of the Noldor or his son, Fingon the Valiant.

 

A season had not passed without messengers from Maedhros bringing gifts to Hithlum for the High King of the Noldor or his son... And that led to whisperings and rumors among the Noldor.

"Diamonds from Belegost, for Fingon the Valiant !"

"The head of the Orc captain Azathoth the Cannibal, killed by Maedhros himself! Yes, it is stuffed, my Lord."

"The Dragon Helm for the vanquisher of Glaurung !"

"The Elessar, the stone of elves made by Fëanor ! Its brightness matches the soul of Prince Fingon."

"A diadem of pearls from Umbar, the city of a thousand spices !"

"Wines from the South of Lindon, the depth and richness of which will brighten the feasts of the King of Kings !"

"The first pears of autumn! Brought from Eriador, their flavor is incomparable."

"A bracelet of pearls and coral from the goldsmiths of Nargothrond !"

"Gauntlets of mithril from Khazad-Dûm ! Forged by the Father of the Dwarves himself !"

"Cocoa ! A strange bean from the far South, which is said to have curative properties !"

Soon enough, Fingon's Seneschal no longer knew where to put all the jewels, trophies, fruits, and vegetables they were sent by the Prince of Himring.

 

"Is our brother really so rich that he can add to our cousin's already golden braids ?" Curufin asked one day in a burst of annoyance. "We can't even be sure that he won't end up sending anything we give him to Fingon."

"If Fingon were Aredhel, I would think that he was in love with her," grumbled Celegorm while petting the top of Huan's head.


End file.
